


the space between the stars

by burglarbilbo



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglarbilbo/pseuds/burglarbilbo
Summary: jaskier and geralt are snowed in and finally get some time to discuss what they are to each other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 212





	the space between the stars

They’ve been travelling north for the past week and a half, making their way through a small mountain range. Jaskier is fully healed, walking on his own, though his leg aches when the weather gets chilly, it makes him feel old. Geralt finds it useful, as well as amusing, once it helps them avoid a thunderstorm. (“Don’t tell me your Witchery senses didn’t predict this,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes as they took shelter. Geralt let out an amused hum. “Be grateful I’m giving you the credit.”

An oncoming snowstorm forces the pair to take refuge in a small abandoned cabin halfway up the tallest mountain. Jaskier decides to stay inside while Geralt goes out to kill something with fur that they can eat and wear. The cabin itself hasn’t been soon abandoned, Jaskier notices that the place is very clean, stocked with a moderate amount of dried meats and preserved fruits, and the fireplace has plenty of fresh, dry firewood next to it. He sets to work building a fire, heating some water, to perhaps take a bath with, though there’s no tub or basin big enough to do so.

Jaskier is in the middle of setting out his and Geralt’s bed rolls on the floor in front of the fire when the witcher gets back, a deer slung over one shoulder and a mountain lion dragged behind him in his other hand. 

“Care for a bath, witcher?” Jaskier asks. Geralt tosses the carcasses in the far end of the room, next to the kitchen table and a few rickety chairs. 

He looks over at Jaskier, blood splashed on his face, his hair wet with melting snow. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jaskier says. He takes out various scented oils and soaps from his pack, setting them down by the basins of hot water. 

Geralt strips down, brings his armor and clothes over, sets them by the fire to dry. 

“There’s no tub,” Geralt remarks. 

“What an astute observation, Geralt,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “There is hot water and clean cloths, as well as soap, so I think we can make do.” 

Geralt grunts, but brings the buckets of water away from the fire and close to them all the same. Jaskier steps aside to undress and brings back a couple more blankets, which he spreads out on the floor before the fire. 

“I don’t love the idea of us standing while bathing, quite frankly,” he says. “Turn around, I’ll get that spot on your back you can never reach.” 

As Geralt is doing so, Jaskier swears that in the firelight he can see the witcher blush ever so slightly. He wonders why such a thing would occur, if it even could in the first place, but shakes off the fact that he saw it in the first place. Must be a trick of the light or some sort. 

Jaskier plunges the scrubbing cloth into the bucket with the scented oils and dried flower petals, suds it up with the small bar of soap they have left, and sets to work gently scrubbing at Geralt’s back. He’s not terribly dirty, not nearly as bad as Jaskier has seen him in the past, but he is still very tense. Jaskier goes to work massaging the various knots out of Geralt’s expansive and scarred back. He soon reaches a particularly stiff bundle of muscles near the center of Geralt’s back, above a freshly healed scar, and Geralt gasps when Jaskier presses on it. 

“Fuck,” Geralt says, through gritted teeth. His hands are at his sides, clenched into fists as Jaskier works the knot loose. 

“Relax, witcher,” Jaskier says, softly. He leans forward, his mouth nearly on Geralt’s ear and he can feel the heat coming off of the witcher’s body, not just from the hot bathwater. He resists the urge to press his lips to the scar at the point where his neck meets his shoulder. “Let me work, as I always do.” 

Geralt turns his head to look at him and their lips almost meet. Jaskier jerks back faster than he meant to. 

“Fine,” Geralt says. With a deep breath he unclenches his hands and relaxes his back. The knot nearly melts away under Jaskier’s fingers then and Geralt can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips. Jaskier feels his cock stir from in between his legs, his hands still and a moment later Geralt freezes. 

Jaskier wonders if Geralt can hear how loudly his heart is beating in his chest. He lets go of Geralt and shifts so he’s sitting in a different position, legs hiding his already half-hard cock. 

“D’you… um, d’you feel better?” Jaskier says. 

Geralt looks back at him and there’s definitely a blush on his cheeks this time. He grits his jaw, the muscle popping out slightly. “Yes,” he says. 

Jaskier is suddenly very aware they’re both sitting together naked, and although they’ve bathed together many times before, he has never felt more exposed than in this moment. He can’t look away from Geralt’s bright gold eyes, practically glowing in the firelight, and he opens his mouth to say something but before he can Geralt is kissing him. Geralt presses his mouth to Jaskier’s, softly at first, waiting, asking, but Jaskier answers right away, kissing him back with just as much passion and fervor. 

Not taking his lips from Jaskier’s, Geralt shifts so that he’s facing Jaskier and then pulls the bard to sit in his lap. At that Jaskier lets out a surprised moan, smiling into Geralt’s lips. There’s a warm feeling bubbling up from deep in his chest, right under his breastbone, and it scares him. But sitting in Geralt’s lap, held by his thick, muscled arms, Jaskier feels secure, he feels safe. He knows Geralt will do everything he can to protect him, both of them. 

And something about this moment makes Jaskier calm — he can’t figure out what it is yet, but he knows it’s something about the way Geralt is kissing him, is holding him. His hands splay the expanse of Jaskier’s back, smoothing over scars and already-fading bruises from their last adventure. Geralt is being delicate with him, Jaskier knows; it feels different from when Geralt is washing him, almost like he’s afraid of hurting him. Jaskier knows how powerful he truly is, he’s seen him in action, he knows the true strength of the muscles beneath him, and it’s intoxicating. 

Having Geralt be soft with him, touching him reverently with hands that have slayed beasts and monsters, well, that almost turns Jaskier on more than the way Geralt is beginning to kiss his neck, hands wandering to his stomach and chest and thighs.  _ Almost.  _

Jaskier gently pushes Geralt back onto the blankets, feeling him smile against his lips. 

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Geralt says. 

“Yes, I can feel it,” Jaskier says. Geralt rolls his eyes. Jaskier laughs, then gasps as Geralt rolls his hips into his, grinding their cocks together. Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s ass in both his hands, spreading his legs so that the bard is situated squarely on top of him. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Geralt says, canting his hips up again. Jaskier gasps out an involuntary moan, smiling into it when Geralt captures his mouth with his own. Jaskier feels Geralt’s fingers ghost over the scar on his side, from his shoulder blade to just under his sternum and the bard shivers. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. He presses himself impossibly closer to Geralt, adding a delicious pressure to where their cocks are rubbing against one another. Jaskier kisses along Geralt’s jawline, moving down his neck when the witcher harshly grabs a handful of the hair at the base of Jaskier’s neck, causing them both to moan. 

Jaskier sucks a bruise at the junction where Geralt’s neck meets his shoulder, unconsciously spreading his legs, pushing Geralt’s further apart in turn and giving them both more room to rut against each other. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, almost pleading. His hand loosens its grip in Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier leans up, arching an amused eyebrow. A smirk plays at the corners of his lips. “Yes, Geralt?” 

_ “I want you to fuck me.”  _

Jaskier hadn’t been expecting that. The thought causes his cock to twitch in between them and he swears he feels his heart skip a beat and Jaskier can only nod at Geralt, his mouth still hanging open slightly. 

“I need…” Jaskier trails off, gesturing vaguely to the pile of scented oils and bath herbs next to one of the larger basins to his left. 

Geralt nods; “I know.” 

“The—the red bottle, the red one,” Jaskier says, in between kisses to Geralt’s neck. 

Jaskier captures Geralt’s mouth in a searing kiss as he reaches away from them to grab the little red bottle and a moment later he’s leaning back, parting from Geralt’s lips with a pleading moan, taking the bottle from Geralt’s hand into his own. 

“Please,” Geralt says, parting his legs even wider. “Please, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier smiles, cupping Geralt’s face. He leans down to press his lips to the witcher’s forehead in a long kiss. “I’ve got you,” he says. Jaskier doesn’t want to stop touching Geralt’s face, the way he’s nuzzling into Jaskier’s palm is more tender than anything he’s seen from the witcher, but he does need both hands for what’s next so he simply presses another long kiss to Geralt’s lips before letting go of him. 

“Have you… ever done this before, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, pouring some of the oil onto his fingers. Geralt nods. 

“There was a man, I needed a weapon of his to defeat a certain monster. In exchange for the weapon, I let him spend the night with me,” Geralt says, rather nonchalantly. “He wasn’t nearly as… giving as you are.” Jaskier makes a face. 

“Well, allow me to show you what it can be like when your partner wants to see you pleasured,” Jaskier says, smiling. A blush creeps up to Geralt’s cheeks and the bard feels a small flutter in his chest. 

Jaskier presses a finger into the tight ring of muscle, his other hand loosely stroking Geralt’s cock. The witcher gasps, his hands at his sides, grabbing fistfuls of the blankets laid out beneath them. 

“Relax, witcher,” Jaskier coos. He crooks his finger inside Geralt, looking for that tight bundle of nerves just…. “There…” 

Geralt lets out a strangled moan, arching his back.  _ “Fuck.”  _ He squeezes his eyes shut, resting his head back against the blankets, pushing forward against Jaskier’s hand. 

“I’ve got you,” Jaskier says again. He leans down and at the moment he presses another finger into Geralt, he takes the head of his cock into his mouth and sucks very lightly. The way Geralt bites back a scream makes Jaskier wonder if he would have come then and there if he hadn’t been holding the base of Geralt’s cock in his other hand. 

“Oh, oh god,” Geralt gasps. “Jaskier…” 

Jaskier lets Geralt’s cock fall out of his mouth with a slight  _ pop _ , licks his lips with a smirk. “Yes, Geralt?” He never stops his hand from moving inside him, scissoring his fingers apart, working him open, getting Geralt ready for him. Geralt simply answers by pushing against Jaskier’s hand inside him and biting back another moan. 

“Please,” Geralt gasps. 

“Please, what?” Jaskier says. He’s smirking, but he’s also painfully aware of how hard he is, his cock leaking pre-come between his knees and onto their blankets. 

“Please,  _ fuck me,” _ Geralt says, practically growling. 

Jaskier smiles, looking the witcher up and down. He’s glowing in the firelight, a thin sheen of sweat on his chest causing some strands of his hair to cling to his shoulders and collar bones. Jaskier slowly takes his fingers out of Geralt, wipes them on the blanket closest to him and crawls up Geralt’s body, trailing kisses as he goes. Geralt is so beautiful underneath him, wanting and needy, face softened and relaxed the way Jaskier hardly sees him. 

Grazing his teeth over one of Geralt’s pert nipples, Jaskier positively revels in the way Geralt cradles his head, fingers carding through his hair. He kisses Geralt slowly, bringing the sense of urgency down to a slower pace. Geralt’s hands travel down his back, gripping his ass. 

“Are you ready for me, Geralt?” Jaskier whispers, mouth biting at the tender skin below his ear. 

Geralt moans. “Yes, god, yes.” 

With a smile, Jaskier pushes himself back onto his heels, drips a little bit of oil onto his cock and strokes himself a few times before lining up with Geralt’s hole. He pushes Geralt’s knees further apart before slowly pushing into him, giving Geralt time to adjust once only his cockhead is inside. Geralt’s brow is furrowed, small beads of sweat forming at his hairline. 

“Relax, Geralt, just relax,” Jaskier says. He runs his hands up Geralt’s chest, minutely pushing more of his cock inside, capturing Geralt’s mouth in another kiss as he bottoms out. Geralt moans directly into Jaskier’s mouth and he feels his cock twitch inside him. 

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks, against Geralt’s lips. The witcher nods, his eyes still squeezed shut. Slowly, his face relaxes and he opens his eyes, golden eyes nearly glowing in the dying firelight. 

Jaskier presses a kiss to Geralt’s nose — there it is, another blush — before pushing himself back up off of the bigger man’s body, moves Geralt’s leg to rest over his shoulder, and finally,  _ finally  _ he begins to move. Jaskier starts out at a slow pace, giving Geralt time to gather his bearings as he gradually picks up his pace. 

Geralt moans at nearly every thrust of Jaskier’s cock, his hands gripping the blankets above his head, eyes squeezed shut. His cock is leaking onto his stomach, bright red, and Geralt  _ shouts  _ when Jaskier begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Jaskier stays at a steady pace, his whole body growing warm; he takes hold of Geralt’s leg thrown over his shoulder, presses a kiss to his ankle, his calf, the inside of his knee. Then, he leans forward, pressing Geralt’s knees further apart, thrusts even deeper into him. 

“Fuck, Jas,” Geralt grunts. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jaskier says. And it’s true; Geralt, splayed out, open, relaxed and oh so eager, has never been more beautiful to Jaskier than in this moment. 

Jaskier places his hand on the center of Geralt’s chest, feels his heart beat. “Let go, Geralt. I’ve got you, just let go,” Jaskier says, pressing his lips to Geralt’s. 

And he does. A moment later, Geralt is closing his eyes, pulling Jaskier impossibly closer to him and he holds his breath, then… Geralt is coming, his cock spurting ribbons of white on both of their stomachs, up Geralt’s chest, a deep flush spreading from his chest, up his neck, and to his face. The sight of him, sincerely debauched, a faint smile upon his lips, the feel of Geralt’s steady heartbeat is enough to bring Jaskier over the edge. 

He quickens his thrusts, tightens his grip on Geralt’s well-muscled hips where he know they won’t bruise — Geralt heals too fast for that, he’s sure — and thrusts one more time, burying himself fully inside Geralt, before he too is coming. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. It’s overwhelming how hard he comes; his eyes shut, a cry is all but ripped from his throat, and he wonders if it will feel this good every time he and Geralt are together. 

His hand is still on Geralt’s chest, his wrist splashed in his come now, and when Geralt sees it he smiles and takes Jaskier’s wrist in his hand. Jaskier barely is able to open his eyes, breath still coming heavy, but when he feels Geralt’s mouth on his wrist, licking up his own come, Jaskier feels his cock twitch where it’s still inside Geralt. 

“Oh my god,” he groans. Jaskier collapses forward onto Geralt, letting the witcher envelope him in his large arms. He can feel Geralt smiling into the side of his neck and Jaskier wonders why they hadn’t done this sooner. 

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks, quietly, still regaining his breath. 

“Yes,” Geralt says. 

“My body feels like jam,” Jaskier says. Geralt lets out a laugh, low and deep in his chest and Jaskier feels it through his entire being. It makes him even warmer. 

He sighs as Geralt switches their positions, laying him out on the blankets in turn. Jaskier closes his eyes, smiling as he hears Geralt dip a sponge into one of the warm water basins. He hopes it’s still warm, though doubts it, seeing as he placed them in front of the fireplace long before their previous activities. 

Jaskier opens his eyes, sits up, to see Geralt cleaning off his chest and neck of come, sitting almost delicately on his knees. “Wait,” Jaskier says, reaching forward. 

Geralt looks at him, arches an eyebrow. 

“Let me.” Jaskier scoots next to Geralt and carefully takes the sponge out of his hand, to finish what Geralt started. 

The fire is just embers now, a soft red glow next to them, illuminating nothing but the two of them, at least that’s all Jaskier can see. Geralt is looking at him, a gentle fondness like no other look he’s seen from the man, and it feels…  _ right  _ when Geralt tilts his face up for a kiss. 

After they clean themselves properly, skin, cook, and eat some of the deer, Jaskier makes them something of a bed with all their blankets and furs. They lie together, Jaskier curled against Geralt’s back, pressing gentle kisses to his spine and all the scars he can reach. The fire is dying again, having been rebuilt for them to cook with, and Jaskier closes his eyes to the soft outline of Geralt’s silhouette. 

He’s on the precipice of sleep, balancing just between waking and falling into a deep slumber, when Geralt’s voice breaks through the fog. 

“Thank you, Jaskier.” 

And Jaskier thinks it’s a silly thing to say after sex, so he simply says, “Go to sleep, Geralt.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from 'parking lot pirouette' by amanda shires; this is kind of a sequel to my fic here https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657276 but can be read independently; thanks for reading! <3


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